


The Puck Trifecta

by JaqofSpades



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Kink: Anonymous sex, Smuckleberry Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:11:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He's about to get laid.  She's megahot.  And he doesn't even know her name.  It's the Puck trifecta.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Puck Trifecta

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For Day 2 of Smuckleberry Week on Tumblr: the prompt? Anonymous sex. In this Puckleberry universe, buskerNoah and studentRachel meet for the first time on the street in NYC.

***

He's busking the first time he sees her. _Sweet Caroline_ always helps the punters empty out their pockets, but she doesn't stop to listen, let alone throw any coins. She swas down the street; a pocket-sized angel with Sophia Loren eyes and a magnificent Jewish nose, and he's mesmerised by the way she moves, the swish of her skirt and the elegant curve of her calves into dangerously high heels. Uptown, he thinks. Too snooty to slow down, or even smile.

But he doesn't miss the heated glance that takes in the swell of his biceps, the bristle of the hawk, and the fit of his jeans. He's half hard, watching her leave, and those coffee-caramel eyes make him forget to woo the rich chicks in the crowd, or the older guys who think a few coins will win them a cheap fuck. He's watching her, and can't kill the smirk when she looks over her shoulder, biting her lip.

She'll be back, or his name isn't Noah fucking Puckerman.

*

Two days later, he catches a flash of long tan legs lurking in back of the crowd, but he doesn't see her until he sets his guitar on its stand, and slides down the wall to eat his sandwich. The crowd clears a bit and she's just a few metres away, watching him from the edge of some fountain thing. This time she's wearing Daisy Dukes and an old t-shirt, hair piled on top of her head in a messy heap, and he nearly fucking chokes because the uptown look had been hot, but like this? She's just glorious. He's got pastrami and fucking slaw hanging out his mouth and she looks like she's trying not to laugh, so he shrugs, sends her a wink, and chows down.

He is wiping his lips – slowly, he's no fool, women _love_ his lips – when she strolls over.

“Hungry work,” she says, nodding towards the guitar.

He just leans back and looks up at her: long, long legs and pert little boobs and he already knows her ass is just a fucking miracle. As in, _thank you_ , Jew God.

“Excuse me?”

He coughs – gotta stop talking to himself when people are around – and scrambles for something that doesn't brand him as a class A lech. Which he is. But, still. 

“Just being thankful, you know. For my lunch. And the guitar.” He shrugs, gives it some thought. “Especially the guitar.”

Her smile is as wide as the bridge he can see out of the corner of his eye.

“Just a nice Jewish boy, then?”

He thinks “fuck it” and leans up until his mouth is close to her ear. “Not that nice, baby. I was thanking God for the shape of your ass.”

He's pretty much braced for a slap when she kneels down next to him to whisper in his ear. His pulse is deafening him and his cock is draining him of the blood he needs to fucking think – she's on her fucking knees! - but he catches most of it.

“If I were you I'd ask God to help you reach some of those notes you missed. You need to put in a lot of work if you're ever going to make that high B. And your performances would benefit from a bit more emotion and little less swagger.”

He's speechless because, on the one hand, she's kicked him in the musical balls, but on the other – she's still there, hot breath on his ear, on her _knees_. So he grabs her, pulls her into his lap, and cuts to the chase.

“I wanna fuck you so bad, baby. You wanna chance to criticise that too? Maybe give me a score out of fucking 10?”

She flushes pink and gives this outraged gasp, but something in her eyes (pure espresso, now) tells him she's thinking about it, and then she's chewing on her lip and he really needs to know what she's thinking _right fucking now_. So he picks her up with one hand and uses the other to tug her legs around his hips (tiny little thing, she is) until she is sitting right on his cock and there is no doubt what _he's_ thinking.

But his English prof is always saying clarity is a good thing, so he tells her anyway.

“I'm so hard we're gonna get arrested for public fucking indecency any moment, babe. Let's bounce.”

So she does.

When he can finally open his eyes again, she's dropped the innocent act. Both arms are around his neck and she's fucking _massaging_ his cock with small, circular movements of her hips.

“Not fucking joking. Need to be inside you now,” he hisses into her ear, dragging them both to their feet. He uses the wall to hide his fucking ginormous erection while he packs away his guitar, and smiles when he turns back to find she's already collapsed the guitar stand. He raises his eyebrows in question, and lets her decide what she wants him to be asking.

“My dorm's two blocks that way,” she blurts, and he has to stop himself from punching the air. He knows he's smirking, and he'd quit that shit if he fucking could, but – he's about to get laid. She's megahot. And he doesn't even know her name. It's the Puck trifecta.

Ten minutes later he's discovering halls of residence look the same every-fucking-where. NYADA, she explains, the Academy for Dramatic Arts. Another fucking actress, he thinks, but she looks like the type that might actually work.

He's more impressed by the fact she's lucky enough to have a room on the second floor - he has to drag his shit up five fucking flights of stairs over at Second Street. But when she stops dead in the middle of the hall, staring at a door a few metres away and looking like someone just slapped her, he figures her room has to be 210, because, _dude_. It's the one with the scrunchy hanging from the handle.

“Tina!” she wails. “She was supposed to be going home this weekend!” she says, and he can just about see the steam coming out her ears. She looks a bit fucking bereft, and the only reason he pulls her into his arms is 'cause the tears in those big brown eyes are a fucking testament to his sex-ninja powers. That must be why he kisses her on the forehead, too.

“Don't worry, babe. We can totally go back to mine,” he says, and then just about chokes with the shock. It's not like he's never taken a girl back to his dorm room before. He has. It's just never been random hot chicks he doesn't already know. (Just Santana, in fact, and occasionally, Brit. Because they knew where he lived already.) But this girl is so hot, he's considering breaking his own rule. (All she has to say is 'yes'.)

And then she legit floors him. 

“I'm not sure I can wait that long. I'll bet there's a practice room free right now. Or one of the dressing rooms backstage of the theatre?”

The part of him that isn't screaming “I'm so getting laid” is marvelling at the idea that these NYADA peeps have their own threatre. Over at NYU, even getting in the study carrels is a trick, and practice rooms are booked weeks in advance. He supposes they have a theatre somewhere, but it's sure as hell not attached to the dorms.

“Lead on, beautiful.”

“You do have a guitar – we'll try the practice room first,” she says with a wink, and laces their fingers together. They walk down the hall hand-in-hand (not something he does, ever), then climb another flight of stairs to the common rooms. Six practice rooms – he counts – and only two of them are busy at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon in July. 

“Half the school's gone home for summer,” she says over her shoulder as she moves the slider to “occupied”.

“Not you, though?”

“I'm from Iowa. My dads come here to visit. You wouldn't get me out of New York if you paid me.” He knows exactly what she means – he only heads back to Ohio for family emergencies and compulsory celebrations. The idea of spending the whole summer there never crosses his mind.

He pulls the guitar out of its case and strums a few notes. “Want me to sing to you? Make it sound good?”

She nibbles her bottom lip (fucking sexy) and then flashes him a minx's smile. “Maybe I just ... _Need You Now_?” 

He plays the first chords as she slides up next to him, pushing him back into a chair. She's so tiny she's able to perch herself on his knees without even touching the guitar, and he likes that, having a lapful of exciting new girl along with his most faithful lover. He's humming along with the melody when she opens her mouth and a huge, velvety voice comes pouring out.

Okay, so she had every right to bust his musical balls. He's never heard anyone sing like that before, and he can hear his own voice deepening in timbre and tone to complement hers, and it's probably the best he's ever sung. Unfortunately, he couldn't give a damn, because it's not his balls giving him trouble right now – it's his cock. It feels fucking neglected.

He puts the guitar aside, cutting her off midverse. She looks outraged, as if he'd committed a hatecrime against music or something. Obviously not used to being interrupted.

“Sorry babe. I wanted to fuck you before you opened your mouth, and after hearing that – I'm in pain here,” he explains, throwing in a pout for dramatic effect. He's no actor though – he's a doer, so he takes advantage of the space between them to slide his hand down the front of her shorts, burrow inside her underwear and collect the wetness there, sneaking a quick taste before plunging his fingers right back in.

She still looks mad, but cants her hips forwards anyway and as his fingers begin to play, arches her back. Her hands are in her hair, pulling at it as she begins to writhe, and it does amazing things for her breasts. He stands up, sliding his hands under her ass and pulling her tight to him.

“We gotta get naked. Now. I need those titties in my mouth.”

“You're a Neanderthal,” she accuses him, but it can't be too much of a problem because she's lifting the t-shirt over her head, and stepping out of the shorts and what might be the tiniest thong he's ever seen.

He'd thought he'd had a good look at her body before, but it turns out, when a girl's this hot, she's still got tricks up her sleeve, even in shorts and a t-shirt. His fingers gravitate straight to the defined muscles of her stomach, before travelling north to dark brown nipples, standing proudly to attention.

“What the fuck do you _do_ to look like this?” he croaks, and he's gotta weigh those boobs in his hands, feel the silk of them and the softness that's such a contrast to the hard muscle of her belly.

“Ballet. Jazz. Tap. Yoga. Occasionally the gym,” she answers, and says something else, but honestly, his brain has already shortcircuited somewhere in the region of “fucking bendy.” 

It's okay. He can do this without his brain, he decides, and his hands take charge, plucking and flicking those tempting little nipples in a way that has her trying to twist closer. She's pushing up his shirt and fumbling with his belt, pulling at it in a way that has no fucking hope of getting it open, so he pushes her away for a moment and simultaneously unbuckles, unbuttons, unzips and pushes his shorts to the floor. They're still around his ankles but he doesn't give a fuck – she's grabbed a condom out of the back of her shorts and is putting it on with her fucking mouth. The wet heat is blinding, and when she begins to suck and slurp, then swallows around him - he's beginning to fuck her mouth and it takes him a moment, but _hell no_. 

He drags her up and sinks down into the chair, holding her hair back from her face as he looks into her lust-blown eyes. “Sex now. Blowjob later,” he pants. Crass, but fucking necessary.

Her eyes narrow and she punches him in the shoulder, but a moment later sinks down on his cock anyway. Getting this girl angry is kinda rewarding, he thinks as bliss starts to edge out more rational thought. She's pretty. Pretty and angry. Angry pretty.

Words are lost to sensation as she clenches her muscles, inside and out, pushing herself up and gliding down again, pushing up, sliding down, pushing up, banging down, and they're both losing rhythm. He's operating on pure lizard brain now, but he still manages to slip a hand between them, and find her her clit. Two pinches and she's gone, and for fuck's sake, she's tighter and hotter and wetter than any girl has a right to be. This might just ruin him, he thinks wildly as his cock starts to pulse. No other girl … never this good … she's amazing ... oh fuck, he needs to know her name … _fuck_.

She collapses in a boneless heap on top of him, her head cushioned on his pec, her knees splayed either side of him. He should get up, find a waste bin and get outta there, but he's drained too. And she feels good, surrounding him. And there's that blow job, too.

So he pulls her a bit closer and waits until his breathing is even again.

“Sorry babe, I really need to get up. Condom.”

It's her turn to pout, now, and he can't pretend he doesn't love it. What guy doesn't love it when his girl wants to keep him inside of her?

He pulls himself up short at that – she's not his girl, she's a girl he just met and had great fucking sex with, but he doesn't even know her name, doesn't want to know her name, he tells himself. He slides her off him, ruder than he has to be.

There's nothing to wrap the condom in, and it's going to look pretty fucking rank in the empty wastepaper basket, but it's not like he'll ever be back here. He throws it in, pulls up his shorts and just in case that doesn't make things clear enough, toes back into his Skechers.

She raises an eyebrow, and he's waiting, just _waiting_ for her to pull out her phone and ask for his number.

He's not going to give it to her. Really. He'll tell her his name is Finn and give her Jacob Ben Israel's digits. Asshole thing to do, and she seems like a really nice girl, so maybe … nah. He's hit the trifecta tonight, and he's not going to fuck it up.

And there's no way his feelings are hurt when she doesn't even ask.

No way.

*

He looks for her every day, even though he tells himself he's not. He plays right outside the closest subway stop for NYADA, so he figures she must be avoiding him, and that's that. He's not going to stalk the girl, even though he remembers her door was blue, with a huge gold star painted on it. Number 210. He doesn't know her name, he tells himself, and she wants it to stay that way. (He's decided he needs a name to drop when he's playing best-ever with the guys. That's all.)

Summer's over now, anyway, and he's gotta focus on pulling the grades he needs to keep his scholarship. He's got two gigs a week – one playing piano with a jazz quartet, the other doing pub rock standards at a bar just off campus – and his GPA is two points below what he needs it to be. He doesn't have the time to chase girls that don't wanna be caught.

His Tuesday morning composition workshop rocks, and he's immersed in getting the hook down with his writing partner when someone walks into the room halfway through class. He doesn't look up until his tutor bangs the cymbals together – asshole – to announce they have a new student.

Transfer from NYADA, he says, and the dude sounds like he's salivating, so Puck rolls his eyes and takes a look at the chick. Legs for days, long fall of glossy brown hair, and the face that has been starring in his personal porno reel for the past two months.

“Hi, I'm Rachel,” she tells the class, and her eyes flick around the room. He waits for the moment she recognises him, and nearly fucking _giggles_ when her mouth opens in a tiny “o” of surprise. He plays it cool, though, giving her a shrug, and a smile.

“How about that High B?” he says, and she blushes and bites her lip and he knows, just _knows_ , they'll be having a practice session real soon.

 

_fin_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual property owners is intended._


End file.
